Of Pillows and Housekeeping
by PwnedByPineapple
Summary: Canada and America have a very fluffy war. Bros being bros, pointless fluff of the fluffiest nature.


**Title:** Of Pillows and Housekeeping  
><strong>Author:<strong> PwnedByPineapple  
><strong>Summary:<strong> _Canada and America have a very fluffy war. Bros being bros, pointless fluff of the fluffiest nature._  
><strong>RatingWarning(s):** K; none  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Birthday gift for KitakLaw.

**Disclaimer: This fangirl owns nothing.**

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><p>When the pillow hit the back of Matthew Williams's head, he knew it was war.<p>

A glance back confirmed the challenging grin plastered across his brother's face. Alfred was armed to the teeth with his own weaponry, bristling with fluffy shields and projectiles, and he swung one back and forth in a hand, ready to spring into action at any moment. His expectant, eager look caused Matthew to sigh; the Canadian knew there would be no getting out of this one, not with Alfred ready to pelt him at the slightest whim.

Still... it didn't hurt to try.

"It's too late for this," Matthew said, turning back to his duffel bag and rummaging around for his toothbrush, which was playing a very effective game of hide-and-seek. "Have you ever heard of a concept called 'sleep'?"

"Sleep is for wimps," Alfred said dismissively. "Real men don't need it."

"Real men also don't come crawling into my bed at three in the morning because they stayed up watching too many horror movies."

Matthew saw that one coming, even with his back turned. He ducked, and the throw-pillow soared over his head, thumping against the far wall. And with a shake of his head, the Canadian abandoned his search, grabbed the first pillow, and rose from his crouch, slowly turning around.

Definitely no getting out of it. Alfred had determined it to be a sleepover tradition, and both sides were now equally provoked.

"You always play dirty," Matthew commented, eyeing his one single weapon as compared to Alfred's plethora.

"That's why you gotta initiate these things first!" Alfred told him, grinning mischievously and beginning to circle. "You remember the rules?"

"First man knocked off his feet loses," Matthew replied. "Consequences?"

"Loser has to clean the entire house," Alfred said, already triumphant, and now Matthew understood the hidden agenda. It was no secret that his brother was a slob who also despised house-cleaning and did it only grudgingly. The Canadian usually checked in to make sure that Alfred was not living in filth, but Matthew refused to do the work for him. And now Alfred believed to have found a way around that. He was sure he would win.

Well... they'd just have to see.

Matthew was not stupid enough to attack first. His brother had all the advantages - greater strength, more weapons, apparent lack of any and all tiredness - and it was clear this would be won only through cunning, through outsmarting the American. Which wasn't exactly hard, and so Matthew waited.

And for all his ostensible idiotic tendencies, Alfred was a pro at combat. His body language gave off no warning before he attacked; he just did.

Matthew flung up his own pillow, using it to deflect his brother's blow, and he backpedaled out of the room. It was too wide; in narrower spaces, Alfred's strength wouldn't be nearly as much of an advantage and underhanded methods worked much better. He skidded into the hallway, ducking another swing, and he reached up, grabbing the offending pillow as it soared over his head. It slipped out of Alfred's grip, the American having overextended himself trying to strike his nimble brother, and now Matthew had a pillow in each hand. He went on the attack.

Alfred was laughing as he defended himself. In fights like these, the reaction was involuntary, and Matthew found himself grinning right along with him. They must've looked like a pair of overgrown fools, duking it out like two little boys. Matthew kept swinging, but he wasn't going to win this fight through strength. No - he kept looking for an opening, an opportunity to use surprise or perhaps spring a clever trap. But Alfred must have been really determined not to clean. He defended himself too well, not giving an inch and not falling for any feints.

Well... Matthew would just have to change his methods, then.

When Alfred's next strike hit the Canadian full in the face, with a heavy feather pillow, no less, Matthew lost his grip on one of his pillows, and Alfred pulled back a moment. "Whoa," the American said, and he began to look worried when Matthew didn't lower his hand, clutching at his nose and groaning. "Crap. Are you okay? I didn't mean to hit that hard, I thought you'd block it..."

Matthew didn't answer, his face mostly hidden, and Alfred dropped his own pillows, coming forward and sounding rather panicky now. "Matt, seriously, are you okay?" he demanded. "C'mon, man, speak to me."

Matthew gripped the pillow he hadn't dropped, smiled a bit behind his hand, and flung it up.

He struck the American squarely in the chest. "Ack!" Alfred squeaked and went tumbling to the ground. He lay there for a moment, stunned, then lifted his head and gazed wide-eyed at his brother. "Mattie... you... you sneaky little bastard!"

The Canadian was rubbing his nose gingerly. It _had _hurt, but he'd exaggerated it greatly, and it was worth it in the long run. He smiled down at Alfred. "Have fun cleaning."

Alfred dropped his head with a groan of despair. "How can you be so cruel?"

"You're just lazy."

"So?" Alfred reached out an imploring hand. "Help me up?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "See what I mean?" But the American's watery eyes worked their magic, and Matthew stepped forward with a shake of his head, gripping his brother's hand and poising to pull him up.

A moment later, he went tumbling as well. "Take this, you cheating scum!" Alfred crowed, and Matthew felt the involuntary urge to laugh as Alfred attacked his sides, tickling him mercilessly.

"Alfred!" Matthew choked out, trying not to give in, but it was hopeless. He began to giggle and went for Alfred's neck. Alfred was laughing now, too, squirming away from the attack while simultaneously trying to maintain his own, and eventually the two of them collapsed into a gasping, laughing heap, completely exhausted from the fight.

"You... are such... a child," Matthew muttered, for a moment just laying there and catching his breath.

"Proudly," Alfred said, stretching and reaching for one the discarded pillows. He pulled it to himself and tucked it under his head, evidently too lazy and tired to move from where he'd collapsed. Almost immediately, sleepiness began to creep into his voice; he was also gifted at falling asleep extremely fast. "Mattie... don't wanna clean the house..."

"You lost, Al."

"But... no fun... help me?"

Matthew sighed. Though he couldn't see Alfred's face, he could _hear_ the puppy eyes in his voice. "Fine," he sighed. His brother was just too pathetic sometimes. "I'll help _a little_."

Alfred chuckled drowsily. "Best brother ever," he slurred, and a moment later, Matthew heard his breathing become slow and even.

Only Alfred would want to sleep on a hard wooden floor in the middle of a hallway. Matthew sat up and turned his head, laughing softly to himself at the sight of his brother sprawled out on the ground with only a pillow for comfort. When the Canadian tried to stand, he found Alfred's hand clutching at his arm, and in sleep the American tugged at him, trying to pull him in closer as he would a stuffed animal.

"Oh, no you don't," said Matthew. Alfred had a habit of snuggling whatever happened to be closest while he was asleep, and Matthew was not about to be drawn into that. "Come on. You need to sleep in a bed." He pulled his arm out of Alfred's grip and poked the American in the side hard enough to drag Alfred out of slumber.

"Get up," Matthew told him patiently. "You can't sleep here, and I'm not carrying you."

Alfred groaned again, covering his eyes. "You're so mean," he whined tiredly, and Matthew kept on poking him until he was on his feet, clutching at the pillow and glaring blearily at the Canadian.

"Where'd all your energy go, eh?"

"It ran away when it learned that it had to do housekeeping," Alfred muttered, swaying a bit, and Matthew sighed.

Somehow, he managed to get Alfred to his room and into bed safely; the American was snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow again, curling into his blankets and releasing a happy sigh. It was so reminiscent of an overgrown puppy that Matthew couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Figuring any further effort wouldn't be worth it, the Canadian withdrew from the room, but hesitated a moment in the doorway, looking back. He seemed rather thoughtful.

He returned from the guest room a few minutes later with a sleeping bag in tow, shaking his head at himself.


End file.
